


Dark and wet and how he regrets

by Morbidmuch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguity, Angst and Feels, Gen, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), sort of anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbidmuch/pseuds/Morbidmuch
Summary: The flowers cost him a fiver.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	Dark and wet and how he regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by fanart that you can view [here](https://serpenssemper.tumblr.com/post/173506176241/kimmuc-always)

Severus is wet.

Of course he's bloody wet, it's raining, isn't it?

The sky is dark, so dark even though it's the middle of the day. Or is it? He's not sure. All he knows is that he is wet and it's raining.

He feels the water leaking into his boots as he stomps across the grass. He needs new boots but boots cost money and he doesn't have any of that. The flowers clutched in his hand cost him five quid, and he now has less than three galleons to his name and he doesn't get his first paycheck until October.

It's still raining, and the sky is so dark.

The gravestones on this side of the cemetery are small, with only a line or two carved into the stone. Some of them are crooked, a few have flowers or candles in front of them. Four rows over, a little ways down towards the large ash tree, lies his grandmother. Paternal, of course. He didn't know her, never met her. But he remembers his da bringing him once – he can't have been more than four or five years old.

The one he's looking for is the easiest to find, because it's the newest. The grass in front of the still pristine stone has not yet started to grow. It's been a week, maybe two. He's not sure.

Severus stops in front of the rectangular pile of dirt, the toes of his boots mere centimetres from the edge. He can't step on the dirt. He lifts his gaze from where it has been trained on the ground. There's no long epitaph, no words about a loving mother and kind friend who will be missed by all. Just her name, and the dates. The day she was born. The day she died. It was three weeks ago, apparently. Time really flies when you're locked up in Azkaban. They told him when he was released (when was that?). Handed him his wand and said “your mother's died.”

“Hello ma,” he says softly, and he can barely hear his own voice over the sound of the rain. The sky is so dark. “Sorry I haven't stopped by.”

He hasn't seen her in almost two years. The day he graduated from Hogwarts he came home, packed his meagre belongings and didn't look back. He regrets that, there are so many things he regrets (LilyMumLilyMumLilyMumMumMum).

Severus doesn't know it yet, as he steps around the rectangle of dirt and puts down the flowers (“That'll be five pounds, please”), but this will be the first and last time he comes here. The years will go by, there will be more things he regrets, and he'll never make it back to put flowers on his mum's grave again.


End file.
